


Laid Out, Laid Bare

by dedougal



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Pegging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-20
Updated: 2012-08-20
Packaged: 2017-11-12 13:21:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/491502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dedougal/pseuds/dedougal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erica has a fun night planned for her and Lydia. That's when the spanner called Chris Argent lands in the works.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Laid Out, Laid Bare

Lydia liked the way Erica looked in disco lights. That was one of the ways Erica had _persuaded_ her to come here tonight. Lydia, at first, had laughed at the idea. She didn’t need to go dancing at some club to want her girlfriend. She’d shown Erica how much she didn’t need to go out to put out. Staying in, together, in the bed in the room Erica said was hers no matter how much Isaac grumbled was much more preferable. 

But she did like the way Erica looked under lights that pulsed pink and blue and green across her hair, her skin. And there was a certain nostalgia here. This club had been where their messy not-a-relationship, not-a-love-affair fucking had begun, after all. 

In her eagerness, Erica had laid out their clothes. Lydia felt hot and overdressed, teetering on ridiculous, but realised she couldn’t care less. Erica had been happy and sometimes she needed that. Her glee at Lydia’s expression when she came out of the bathroom to see the pin-striped suit, the black satin underwear, the smart patent heels. Lydia had tried to put up a protest – she’d bought a new thigh-skimming pleather skirt that would be just _perfect_ – but when Erica had pouted she’d given in. The way Erica had slid to her knees, easing up the panties, the suit pants, had buckled on the shoes with Lydia’s hand in her hair for balance, made Lydia’s self-control waver. The fedora over her pinned up hair had been the final touch, the promise that Lydia would be wholly in control later. It might even be a handcuffs kind of night. 

An iced drink – soda – waited for her on the bar. They were happy enough to let over 18s in here, fresh meat most of them, but not happy enough to risk their license. Lydia didn’t really mind. Erica couldn’t get drunk anyway and she could watch and not forget any of how Erica looked, under the lights, sweat sliding down all her exposed skin. The dress was red and might have more material in it that one of Lydia’s bikinis but that was touch and go. She’d had a black jacket to prevent accusations of public indecency (Erica ran naked through the woods on a regular basis. In a good way. Public indecency was a thing she was familiar with) but that had been tossed aside when they’d slid into the crowd.

They didn’t do this often for other reasons other than usually when Erica wore dresses like that she normally ended up spread wide on the nearest bit of furniture. Erica was too jealous. But tonight she was showing off, mainly for Lydia’s benefit. Lydia liked to watch sometimes too. Erica had her hand wrapped around the neck of some college boy dressed in stiff new leather pants and a worn collar and leash. She was riding the leg of the woman holding the other end of the leash, a classic Goth type. Possibly been a Goth the first time it was cool but it was hard to tell under the lights and through the haze of smoke and the rest of the bodies.

Lydia’s throat was dry, suddenly. She had to force herself to turn away, grab a drink. That was when she saw him.

Allison’s dad. Mr Argent. Lydia wasn’t sure whether to run away or to grab Erica and point him out. Maybe she should say hello or something. Lydia hadn’t really spoken to him since Allison headed off to college on the coast and since he’d tried to hunt her girlfriend. She watched him carefully. 

He was the one out of place. He was still and stiff amid all the relaxed weaving of limbs going on. He was wearing the sort of clothing he’d always worn – jeans and a Henley, unbuttoned just a little bit too far like he used to, hint of tan, chest hair and muscle. He also wasn’t watching the crowd like pretty much all of the other people in the club. They were all here for one purpose, after all. To fuck or get fucked. Lydia was no exception and from the way Erica had dressed her, she guessed she was going to be the one doing the fucking. She wasn’t constantly rearranging the strap on in her pants for nothing.

Lydia dragged her eyes back to Mr Argent. He had his head down, looking into the inky depths of his drink. She might have joked to Allison about the fact she had a total dad she’d like to fuck but he looked more rough than sexy, right now. His stubble wasn’t fashionable. It was neglect. There were dark shadows under his eyes. Lydia hesitated again, but this time she wasn’t so lucky. Mr Argent’s eyes slid left to meet hers. Her breath caught a little as she realised they hadn’t changed. They were as blue and piercing as ever and she felt that they were stripping back every layer and exposing her, beyond naked, and seeing every hidden thought.

“Hey.” Lydia belonged here. He didn’t. And she was desperate to maintain control.

“Lydia.” His voice was flat and her name seemed to come at the end of a sigh. When his head wobbled as he turned back to look down at his glass half empty, she realised he was also much more drunk than she’d first thought. She made her way around the few other patrons leaning over the bar until she was beside his bar stool. She had to dip close to hear his muttered, “I thought you were Victoria.”

Up close, Mr Argent looked like he hadn’t slept properly for years. Part of Lydia put that down to his propensity to drive around all night long looking for unfortunate werewolves to hunt. But sympathy won out as she took the dark rings under his eyes, the way he seemed to stare straight through the bottom of his glass. Allison was pretty much living at the McCall’s when she deigned to come back to Beacon Hills these days and his sister, his father, his wife had all died. “Why?”

“What?” Mr Argent looked up again, moving carefully to avoid falling off his bar stool.

“Why did you think I looked like Mrs Argent?” Lydia was still trying to judge whether she needed to grab Erica and run or whether she should call someone.

“She… We used to come here.” And that was probably in the realms of things you never wanted to know about your friends’ parents. Lydia still had to choke down bile when her parents reminded her that they’d had sex at one point. But Lydia guessed the revelation otherwise didn’t shock her too much. Allison’s mom had always been the one firmly in charge regardless of how badass her dad was.

Erica had obviously noticed Lydia’s attention was elsewhere and, since that wasn’t the point of the evening at all, had come to retrieve it. She plastered herself up against Lydia’s side, wrapping her arms tight around her waist and breathing, “Hi,” into her ear. Then Erica stopped being sex-kittenish. “Holy shit. It’s Mr Argent.”

Mr Argent waved a hand in Erica’s general direction. Then he realised who she was and seemed to sober, perceptibly. He looked between Lydia and Erica, doing the math. Lydia turned her head just enough to kiss Erica’s cheek, marking her with her lipstick. She wasn’t afraid of Mr Argent for all she could feel Erica shaking slightly. She wrapped her arm around Erica, trying to convey reassurance and confidence and the knowledge that Mr Argent wouldn’t do anything, not here. Finally Mr Argent’s head dropped to look at his drink again. Lydia waved her free hand at him, not sure what to say or do before turning back to Erica. “Let’s dance.”

Erica seemed reluctant to let Lydia go, hand or leg or lips in contact as they writhed together. Lydia loosened her suit jacket, trying to cool herself but that only led to Erica touching and caressing her bare skin, driving Lydia wild. Lydia’s own hands seemed drawn to the curve of Erica’s ass, the short skirt of the dress, fingertips teasing at the hem, desperate to drive up. Erica’s hair was tumbling around her face, leaving them in a world of their own when she pressed forward and kissed Lydia hard, teeth biting at Lydia’s lower lip as Erica drew it out. There were other bodies around them, occasionally trying to join in, but all Lydia knew was Erica determined to make her break, determined to have her say it was time to go or to pull her into the bathroom or one of the backrooms. She could feel the fever under her skin, feel the satin of her panties clinging with more than just heat. But Lydia had control. She would make Erica break, skimming her palm up Erica’s side, across her breast.

A cool hand on her neck made her start, break away, lose rhythm. Maybe they’d transgressed the boundaries of acceptable even here. But it was Mr Argent. Erica seemed to freeze against her, a tiny oasis of stillness in the mass of heaving bodies pulsing to the bass line. Lydia read the panic in her face again, nuzzled against her before turning to look at Mr Argent. He looked raw, wrecked, but more sober than he had at the bar.

“Please. Can we talk?” He had to shout the words. Lydia read the desperation in his eyes and nodded. She owed Allison this one. She nodded, fastening her jacket again like some medieval suit of armour. Erica still clung to her but she didn’t stop Lydia following him to the hallway leading to the backrooms. Lydia had hoped their night might end here but she sure as hell hadn’t expected her friend’s dad to be leading the way.

It was early. There wasn’t a queue yet, the bodies pressed into alcoves were still mostly clothed. Mr Argent pushed at a half open door, checking the room before he looked back at Lydia and Erica, shame colouring his face. Lydia wondered if he was ashamed at being in the club or just ashamed of the fact he was leading two eighteen year old girls into a private room. Wrongness sent tendrils of cold fear up Lydia’s spine. Erica could handle most things and Lydia had a knife tucked into the inside of her purse and she could use it. But when the door closed, it was just the three of them. Erica finally disengaged her hand from Lydia’s and that made Lydia worry even more. Erica was readying herself for a fight.

“My wife- Victoria. We came here. To places like this.” Mr Argent sank down onto the wide red padded bench that dominated the room. Tacky but fitting. He looked up at Lydia, pinning her with his eyes. This time they were less muddled but still full of shame and pain and something that looked like grief. “I thought coming here would help.”

“Help with what?” Lydia’s mind was starting to put the pieces into place. People came here alone for one reason and one reason only. And that wasn’t to drink too expensive whiskey. Mr Argent had been here looking for someone – for something. Something that reminded him of his wife.

“You reminded me of her. You were-“ He bit his lip, took a deep breath. Lydia didn’t respond. She was still stuck on the idea that she had anything in common with Allison’s mom. Beyond hair colour. And she was pretty sure that Mrs Argent’s had been 100% bottle. “Strong.”

Lydia looked at him for a moment. She was going to try something. Something Allison better never find out about. Erica, however, would enjoy remembering this too much. “You going to talk all night or are you going to get yourself ready for me?” She kept her tone light but knew that the undercurrent of demand and dominance that she used to drive Erica wild would be there. She unfastened her suit jacket again, exposing the bulge in the front of her pants from the strap on. Mr Argent ducked his head but not before she saw him lick his lips. 

He took a long moment and silence stretched like a wire in the room, ready to snap at someone’s face, scar them at any moment. Then the tension dissolved, replaced with something like excitement. “Thank you.” Mr Argent’s voice was soft but clear.

There was a soft oh from behind her as Erica seemed to get what was going on. She pressed a packet into Lydia’s hand – lube – and moved to lie on one of the loungers against the wall. Lydia knew she’d be watching, half to enjoy and half to make sure Mr Argent didn’t try anything. And because she knew she’d be the one going home with Lydia no matter what did or didn’t happen. Lydia tossed the packet at Mr Argent as he tugged his Henley up and over his head, discarding it on the floor as he went for his belt. He seemed to be less drunk with every moment, moving surer now.

“Safe word?” Lydia wasn’t removing any clothing until she had a few rules in place.

“Silver.” Mr Argent shrugged at her cough-laugh of shock. “And… It’s Chris, okay?” He looked ashamed again. Lydia couldn’t have that. She crossed the space between him, swung her leg over and straddled his lap. He tilted his head back to accommodate her, accepting the kiss, mouth opening for her tongue when she parted her lips and demanded entrance. She couldn’t call him Chris. That was too intimate, made him too much like a lover. This was nothing other than sex. 

Argent. She could call him that.

Erica made a soft noise behind her as Lydia stroked her hands up over Argent’s sides, much the same way she’d stroked up Erica’s on the dance floor. She could feel scars under her palms, knots of muscles, coarse hair. It was much more than just the difference between male and female. It was life and experience and werewolf healing versus someone much more human. Erica felt soft and warm. Chris Argent was cold and hard, like the weapons he wielded.

It was time to move this on. Lydia slid back, stood up, shrugged off her jacket and unbuttoned her pants. She wasn’t going to be more naked than that. She didn’t even take off her hat. On the bench, Argent slid out of his jeans, kicked off his shoes. No underwear to remove. He did appear smaller, vulnerable. He was still firm and muscled and Lydia felt that heat spark low in her belly. She was going to dominate that, she was going to be the one in charge and, just like when Erica turned over control and begged and begged to be fucked, Lydia knew the aphrodisiac effect of power.

“Roll over.” Sit. Stand. Beg. Play dead. Argent rolled onto his belly, lifting one knee to the bench to expose himself to Lydia and Erica’s interested gaze. He was shaking, his own cock hard and leaking. Lydia was tempted to taste it, to swallow some of the slick she could see spilling onto the bench but that didn’t fit with what she was here to do. She grabbed the packet of lube, emptied half of it onto Argent’s ass before pulling the strap on out and lining it up. She teased his hole with it, spreading the lube around. Under her, under the edges of bass bleeding through from the dance floor, she could hear the starts of bitten off moans, choked off groans. That would never do. She wanted to make him scream.

Dark thoughts, of causing pain and hurt, of punishing him for scaring her friends, her girlfriend unfurled within her. But she jerked her hips back, replacing the plastic with the warmth of her fingers, first one and then two, probably too quickly but that was part of what Argent needed. His ass squeezed her fingers, tight and boiling heat, as she slicked the lube inside him, opened him up. She nudged a third finger alongside the other two, looking to open him up more.

“That’s enough,” he said, voice raw and low, rumbling from deep in his gut. “Fuck me. Fuck-“ Another curl of arousal, of breaking him enough to beg made her long to slide a hand between her own legs, to rub at her clit. Erica obviously understood what was going on, coming to stand behind her and pushing her bra down to roll a nipple between her spit soaked fingers. Lydia turned her head for a kiss as Argent rolled his hips back, desperate for more.

Lydia pulled away to watch as she pressed the flesh coloured plastic against the tight furl of his hole. She moved slowly, shifting her weight gradually to push and push and push. Infinitesimally Argent opened to her, let her in, this strange piece of plastic that seemed part of her in this moment and space. Lydia chased away all thoughts of revenge and relationships and pasts as she watched him stretch wide until she was fully seated, Erica warm and observant at her back.

She waited. She knew how to draw this moment out until pain and stretch became almost too much, too full, too good. She’d been the one on the receiving end, Erica shifting on top of her, holding her down. If she waited, she’d get more than just a low groan, a shift of hips.

“Please-“ Here it was. The long drawn out need. “Move. I need…” Argent had lost more than the will to bite out words here and there.

“You need what I give you,” Lydia barked out, widening her stance and drawing her hips back. This was the delicate bit – too hard and she’d slide out, cause Argent to wince and fall away from her. Too soft and the tight clench of his ass wouldn’t let her glide, fuck him like he needed to be fucked.

Lydia drove into him, using her hand, tiny and manicured, against his hip to hold him steady. She bent over, unsurprised to feel Erica’s talented hand pushing her pants down, working between her spread legs, clever fingers driving her wild. She wouldn’t take long to fall over the precipice. The hard plastic gave her just enough pressure on her clit like this, stroking in and out. And the way she felt, in charge, in control, made everything sharper, hotter, harder. “You going to come like a good boy? Come on my cock?” The words purred out, more like something she’d hear through the walls from Derek’s bedroom than something she’d say. 

“Yes, yes.” The agreement felt punched out of Argent with every thrust of her cock. She could see the tense line of his shoulders, the tight muscles in his neck as he let out a low strangled groan, falling forward onto his folded arms. Lydia fell back into Erica’s grasp, her own orgasm tearing through her at the sight of the white mess of come on the bench, the red rim of Argent’s fluttering ass. She gasped, trying to brush away the strands of her hair that had come loose with the back of her hand, trying to draw breath and calm the rapid put-put-put of her heartbeat. 

Erica slid her pants back into place, covering most of her panties but leaving the strap on in full view. Lydia nuzzled thankfully at her, placing a slopping kiss on the nearest bit of skin – an exposed shoulder. Argent was still sprawled on the bench, breathing slow and even and every muscle relaxed and loose. Erica nodded when Lydia looked at her and they quietly gathered their things, leaving a towel on the bench beside Argent. 

Lydia paused in the doorway. She was bone-tired suddenly, ready for the warmth of Erica’s bed, in a house where she knew there’d always be at least one but more likely four or six other people there to take her in, pull her out of her own head. She clung onto Erica’s hand, the need to control, to make it more than a game finally disappearing.

“You could come by, sometime.” The offer seemed small after what they’d done. Chris Argent looked at her, eyes clouding with grief again. Lydia waved a hand to brush away the offer, embarrassed. It wouldn’t do for Allison to find out, for Scott to sniff out what they’d done. Or worse, for Derek to know. No. This stayed here between them and the dark club where no one asked for names or gave them, not if they came here alone.

Erica tugged, impatient to be away. Lydia went, grateful.


End file.
